


My Man, Brock.

by send_nudes



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Dialogue Heavy, I know it’s not canon but I ride the bi Rusty train til I die, M/M, Minor spoilers for S7, PWP, Probably very OOC, all the porn is actually in chapter 2, but i’m giving it an E rating just in case, idk if this is even gonna be enjoyable to read... but I liked writing it a lot so. Here you go.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/send_nudes/pseuds/send_nudes
Summary: “Does it ever bother you that people think we’re together?”Rusty adjusted his glasses. “Well, we are together. You’re my bodyguard. That’s the point.”Brock rolled his eyes. “Jesus, do I gotta spell it out for you?“***Brock hates the idea that Dr. Venture might be more secure in his sexuality than he is. Now with porn!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this. And... now it’s on the internet. Last warning, there’s some minor spoilers for the first episodes of S7. I hope you enjoy!

It came up casually on a Sunday afternoon, as Brock and Rusty stepped on the subway. They were coming back from the grocery store, and although it was a hassle carrying thirty paper bags of groceries through two transfers on the subway, it avoided the New York traffic and was much less flashy than the X-1. 

Rusty’s arms were full with two bags of groceries, leaving Brock to handle the other twenty-eight (which he did with ease). A loose apple fell from one of Rusty’s bags, rolling along the subway floor til it collided with the feet of an elderly woman. Brock chased after it, coming to face the lady as she picked it up.

“I think your husband dropped this,” she said with a kind smile. 

Brock smirked. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that one before. Though, usually, it was ‘boyfriend’ or ‘partner.’ 

“Thanks,” Brock took the apple and placed it in one of his bags, “But I’m just his bodyguard.”

“Oh, we had all kinds of names for that sort of thing in my day. Be proud, it’s 2018!” Her voice was much louder now, attracting the attention of many people that surrounded them.

No stranger to being the center of negative attention, Brock had to stifle laughter as the lady cheered him on. He gave her a nod and walked back to where Rusty was clearly struggling not to tear one of his bags. Brock sighed, plucking the bag from his arms. He could still probably hold another fifty pounds.

“What was the old hag going on about?” Rusty asked, finally getting a proper hold on the remaining paper bundle.

“Ah, nothing...” Brock’s voice trailed off, picking back up after a beat of silence, “Say, uh, Doc, does it bother you that people think we’re, uh.... y’know.”

“What, that people think you’re old enough to be my father?” This was the beginning of one of Rusty’s many tangents. Brock rolled his eyes in preemptive agitation. “I’m telling you, the key is to give back the moisture. If you exfoliate before bed, you’ll start to see results right away. Wrinkles will vanish before your very eyes. Look, I know this good formula—“

“No, no, Doc, I’m not talking about lotion. Does it ever bother you that people think we’re together?”

Rusty adjusted his glasses. “Well, we are together. You’re my bodyguard. That’s the point.”

Brock rolled his eyes. Again. “Jesus, do I gotta spell it out for you? Does it bother you that people think we’re gay?”

Rusty’s face went through a series of emotions. First was shock, then disbelief. Then, strangely enough, a brazen grin. “Oh, please. Don’t flatter yourself, Brock. People don’t think that.”

“Wh—!” Brock quickly quieted his voice, noting the public space they were in, “What?! Me, flatter myself?! If anything—“

“Yes, we all know, you’re much more sexually promiscuous than me. Any woman would be lucky to be with you,” Rusty waved a condescending hand, grocery bag nearly falling from his arms in the process, “But if there’s one thing I’m good at, Brock, it’s appealing to the gays.”

Brock opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when he caught the eye of a businessman standing next to him. Their argument seemed to be the center of attention for everyone on the train. 

“This is not over,” Brock said through gritted teeth.

Rusty gave a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, whatever.”

 

***

But it was over. 

For Rusty, anyway. Back at the house, many hours later, he had long since forgotten their conversation on the subway.

Brock, on the other hand, was quietly steaming with rage. After Dean went to bed and Hank went— well, wherever Hank goes to at night, Brock found himself leaning against the doorway of the lab, observing Rusty perched on a barstool, face shoved into a large, shapeless machine on his work table.

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Brock crossed his arms.

“Whoa—!” Rusty exclaimed, jolting upright. A handful of sparks flew from the machine. “Jesus, Brock, you scared me. Now I’ve got to reroute the circuits of this whole damn thing!”

Brock groaned. “Sorry, Doc. I was just— what the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Rusty slipped off the barstool and turned towards Brock. He had a welding mask on that hadn’t been visible before. Brock lost his train of thought for a moment.

“Oh! Uh, back on the subway. What did you mean by—“ Brock did his best to mimic Rusty’s voice with alarming accuracy, “—Don’t flatter yourself, Brock. I know the gays.”

“I do not sound like that!” Rusty tipped the welding mask so that it rested on his forehead, revealing his displeased expression. “Look, Brock, I know it’s hard for you to understand. You may appeal more to the ladies, but I’m more attractive to.... well, men. It’s not necessarily something I’m proud of, but at least it’s something.”

“That’s completely objective!” Brock waved a dismissive hand, “There’s gotta be gay guys out there that want a man’s man over some string bean in a speed suit. This is an unfair assessment!”

“Do you want me to call Shore Leave? I will, right now!”

That shut up Brock right away. It’s true, he had heard of Shore Leave’s infatuation with Rusty Venture (not the person, the action)— and besides, there was clearly no accurate means of measuring such an absurd accusation.

Rusty put his hands on his hips, and continued, “Brock, why does it even matter? Why can’t you let me have this? Why do you always need to be the heartthrob?”

To that, Brock didn’t have an answer. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why can’t it ever be me?” Rusty’s voice was much sadder than either man had anticipated. Brock stepped forward, putting a sympathetic hand on Rusty’s shoulder.

“Listen, Doc, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way. I just—“ He attempted to patch up the situation by repeating Rusty’s words from earlier: “Why does it even matter? You’re not— you’re not even gay!”

“I could be gay!” Rusty fired back perhaps too quickly, swiping Brock’s hand off his shoulder. He paused, and rephrased, “I’m not gay, but there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Again with this. Brock couldn’t help but smile at Rusty’s desperate need to impress him. “What, like that you’ve had sex with men?”

“Yes,” Rusty said pointedly. He slipped the welding mask back onto his face and reclaimed his position on the barstool.

Brock was floored by this revelation. He’d known Rust since college and he’d never had any indication that he’d been interested in anything besides women and science. The very idea that he could, possibly, be bisexual... was outrageous. And yet, here was Rusty, back to work on his robot as if he hadn’t just dropped a major metaphorical bomb. As if he was supposed to already know something like this.

“Are you serious right now?” Brock sputtered, “You— you really— with guys?! Who? When? You never told me!”

“I didn’t know I needed to keep you informed of all my sexual escapades,” Rusty said, attention now fully on his work.

There was an awkward silence that swept over the room, filled only by the sound of Rusty’s blow torch against the metal insides of the large mechanical structure.

“I get it. It’s a rare occasion when the Brock Samson is insecure in his masculinity,” Rusty spoke up with an unusual boldness, “but just because you’re not as popular with the homosexual community as I am doesn’t mean you can let your fowl attitude rub off on super scientists that are trying to build a robot that can teach deadbeat nineteen-year-old blond kids how to do long division!”

“Insecure? In my masculinity!” Brock repeated, voice rich with sarcasm. He placed a hand on the back of Rusty’s stool and swiveled it around. “You gotta be kiddin’ me, Doc. I—“

He was cut off by the swift motion of Rusty tossing his welding mask aside and mashing their faces together in a sudden, awkward kiss. 

Brock could feel his ears turn bright red— whether out of embarrassment or anger is anyone’s guess— and his heart caught in his throat. It lasted much longer than it should’ve, mostly because Brock didn’t shove Rusty away. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Something deep, deep inside of him wanted it. Something that he’d didn’t know existed until this moment. So he kissed him back.

And then there was the fact that Rusty was surprisingly good at kissing. Sure, Brock prided himself in his ability to please a partner, but in this moment, he was caught off guard. Or maybe that was just the excuse he came up with off the top of his head, and he just had no idea how to kiss a guy. 

In Brock’s ultimate moment of humiliation, it was Rusty that pulled away first. And even worse— Rusty looked so composed, as if it never happened. The corners of his mouth even dared to turn upwards in a sadistic grin. 

“See? Nothing,” Rusty said, booping Brock’s nose with his forefinger. He swiveled around and switched back into work-mode right away.

“I— but—“ Brock’s retort fell flat. He was dumbstruck. So many different emotions were bouncing around in his head. His face was flustered, his stature was sheepish— even his hair was a mess. And it was only made worse by the fact that he knew he looked like this way. He was vulnerable. And he hated it. “But— wait, why would you—“

“Think about it. I’m able to kiss you and feel nothing. You, on the other hand, look like you just heard Mary Anne Helen say she wants to be your Valentine back in the fourth grade,” Rusty explained, firing up his blow torch, “Remind me again which one of us is insecure in our masculinity? You’ve got some serious soul searching to do.”

Speechless, Brock left the lab. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. This whole ordeal was insane.

***

“Hey Brock!”

In a self-reflective trek back to his room, he nearly collided with Hank, sneaking in from the upstairs window. He was coming back from a night with the Wide Whale’s daughter, no doubt.

Hank waved, just before losing balance and crashing to the ground. It was a short drop, but still looked like it hurt, with the way he landed. Normally Brock would chide him for coming back late, something about how premarital sex is wrong. But... he wasn’t in the mood. 

“You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost,” Hank said, back on his feet. “Oh, no, don’t tell me you’re gonna be sleeping outside again.”

“I just might, Hank,” Brock said, closing the door to his room behind him. “I just might.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock needed to kiss him again, just to prove there was nothing to it. He couldn’t let Rusty have the upper hand. 
> 
> So... that was his plan.
> 
> ***
> 
> This is the obligatory porn that follows last chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, I wrote this. I wasn’t originally going to write a sequel to last chapter, but I had so much fun writing the first part that I just kind of... did? It’s basically porn. Just. Be aware of that. Enjoy reading!

Brock couldn’t sleep. 

He kept thinking about the kiss he’d shared with Rusty many hours ago. It was infuriating. He’d seen everything: wars, assassins, pirates, ghosts, zombies— hell, he’s had run-ins with bigfoot. Fucking bigfoot! But the thing that haunted him more than all of that was a stupid fucking kiss. 

He kept playing the scene over and over in his head. Rusty just... kissed him. It had happened so casually for Rusty— so easily. Brock wondered how many of his friends he’d kissed. He had his suspicions about Pete in particular... there was no fucking way that guy was straight. He was gonna deck that stupid albino in his stupid albino face.

Why did it even bother him? Light crept into his room from the window. Brock groaned and rolled on his side, sandwiching his face between either side of his pillow in an attempt to muffle the noise in his brain. He grit his teeth. If he wasn’t gay, why did he keep thinking about it? Why did he want more?

Brock needed to kiss him again, just to prove there was nothing to it. He couldn’t let Rusty have the upper hand. 

So... that was his plan.

Brock tossed the sheets off his body, flinging his legs over the side of his bed. In a dazed half-sleep, he marched up to Rusty’s room and froze in front of the closed door. What the hell was he doing? This was stupid. This was dumb. This was by far the worst idea he’d ever had— and in Brock’s time, he’s had a lot of stupid ideas.

He knocked firmly on the door. It wasn’t too late, he could bolt away and pretend this never happened. Brock was fast, he could make it down the stairs in the time it’d take Rusty to get from his bed to the door. Brock was still calculating all possible escape routes when the door opened. His heart nearly stopped.

In the glow of his bedside lamp Rusty was looking tired, obviously having just woken up. His glasses were on crooked and his eyes were half-lidded. Everything about him, from the hunch of his back to the wrinkles in his pajamas, looked unkept. But, Brock considered, that’s fair. He didn’t look so great himself.

“What, what izzit, Brock?” Rusty slurred, rubbing an eye, “This bett’r be important!”

Brock felt a rush of adrenaline. He responded by taking a step forward, crowding Rusty’s space. Taking care to give him plenty of time to get out of the way should he want to, Brock leaned in and kissed him hard. 

He steadied Rusty by wrapping a firm hand around his upper arm. He hadn’t intended in drawing out their kiss so long, but Rusty actually kissed him back, and... he was so good at it. So they just stood there in Rusty’s doorway, making out like a couple of idiots. 

Rusty’s hands found their way onto Brock’s chest, pulling him close even as he broke away for air.

“Wow,” Rusty said, pausing to catch his breath. “What was that?!”

“Shut up,” Brock grunted, yanking Rusty back into a kiss.

Rusty utilized the momentum to fling both legs around Brock’s chest. The sudden movement initially surprised Brock, but he was able to catch Rusty just in time. Rusty’s arms wrapped around Brock’s neck, hands tangling into his blonde hair.

Brock staggered into Rusty’s room, haphazardly nudging the door closed with his foot. He tossed Rusty onto his bed, grinning to himself at the pathetic, lightweight bounce it elicited. Something about Rusty just looked so good right now, but Brock couldn’t put his finger on it. His face was flushed and appeared particularly sanguine in the dull light of his bedroom. This felt so different than the women he’d been with in the past. He wasn’t sure why, but it did. Wrapped up in his conflicting thoughts, Brock was only mildly aware of his growing arousal.

He climbed on top of Rusty and wasted no time in resuming their kiss.

It was Brock who took his clothes off first. Mostly it was out of habit. Historically, foreplay wasn’t exactly his priority.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Rusty said when Brock peeled off his shirt, “Where’s this going?”

“It— it’s going—“ Brock stammered, hands frozen on the zipper of his pants like a complete idiot, “I don’t know. Where is it going?”

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this right.” Rusty reached for his bedside drawer and pulled it open. He tossed Brock a small container of liquid from inside. “Squirt some of that on your fingers. It’ll help.”

Brock winced at the cold substance on his fingers. “How is this comfortable for you?”

“What, you’ve never used lube before?” Rusty raised an eyebrow, diligently undressing himself in the meantime. 

“Once, with Warriana. But... that was—”

His voice cut off when Rusty appeared fully naked before him. He was half-hard already. Sure, he’d seen Rusty naked before; many times in college and even more since working as his body guard, but this time was different. This was more than just an average interaction with the short, stringy, mostly-hairless guy he worked for. This was... intimate.

“Forget it. Just... let’s go. Do it,” Rusty groaned, already tired of Warriana.

And Brock obeyed. He stuck a finger in Rusty, then two, making sure he was adequately prepared for what was to follow. All the while Brock worked at him, Rusty squirmed impatiently. 

“Do it,” Rusty said after too much of Brock’s teasing, “Please, just— God, Brock, I need it.”

Brock couldn’t resist Rusty when he wanted something. In some ways, it felt like his Achilles’ heel. He pulled out his fingers and positioned the head of his cock.

“Let me know if this is too m—“

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up! Just do it! Fuck me already!” Rusty snapped, though it quickly evolved into a whine. 

Damn, that was hot. Brock pushed forward, resulting in a cry of praise from Rusty. He quickly worked up a rhythm that he assumed would be more than satisfactory for most people— but evidently, not Rusty.

“Harder!” Rusty crooned, “Faster! Be mean!”

“I— I’m not gonna be mean to you, Doc,” Brock said, voice strained. He was quickly beginning to accumulate sweat. In an attempt to please Rusty without pummeling the poor guy, Brock halted suddenly, and commanded, “Turn around.”

They stopped for a moment while Rusty eagerly complied with Brock’s request. Brock half-smiled as he took off his glasses and put them aside— what a fuckin’ dork— then got on his hands and knees. They soon resumed, with Brock placing one hand on Rusty’s hip, and the other on the back of his neck. A loud string of profanities escaped Rusty as Brock thrust back in all at once. These were good noises. Brock liked these.

“Fuck, Brock, the boys—“ Rusty said between moans, “They’ll hear!”

Brock thought about this for a moment, but kept up his steady rhythm. “Hank’s at Sirena’s, I think— and Dean’s slept through worse.”

“Hank’s at Sirena’s?!” Rusty suddenly shouted. “He is so dead!”

Alright, that was enough about the boys. They were not going to ruin the amazing sex he was having with their father. Brock stiffened the arm he had around Rusty’s neck, shoving him abruptly into his mattress. Rusty looked so good like this, Brock mused, with his back arched and his face buried in the bedsheets. 

In all the years Brock had known him, Rusty always had something snarky to say. To see him like this— completely speechless with his voice totally muffled— was probably the sexiest thing Brock had ever seen. His chest heaved as he thrusted harder and faster, leaving Rusty just as breathless.

Brock beamed with pride at the incredible sounds he was earning as he fucked Rusty hard. In a stroke of genius, Brock put both hands on Rusty’s thighs, scooping him up with a single motion. Before either of them could process what was happening, Brock was fucking Rusty against his wall with both legs suspended. This seemed to drive Rusty wild— his face shoved into the hard surface and Brock spreading his legs held apart— it felt so vulgar.

“Brock— Brock, oh god—“ Rusty groaned. One hand caressed Brock’s face, and the other wrapped around his leaking cock. Overstimulated, he pumped himself a few times in tune with Brock’s rhythm, then quickly came on his lower stomach.

Rusty’s body trembled as he climaxed, Brock still fucking him all the way through it. He came inside Rusty soon after, hissing through his teeth with a particular aggressive series of thrusts. 

He was completely spent after that, gently placing Rusty back onto his bed. Rusty looked nearly as tired, chest heaving and eyes already shut. Brock lay a short distance beside him. Staring at the ceiling, he remarked, “Wow.”

“Wow,” Rusty agreed. “So... you good?”

“Fuck.... yeah, I am. You?” Brock was already half asleep when he said this, the many hours he’d been awake before this suddenly catching up.

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence. It would’ve been awkward for Brock had he not been so exhausted. 

“What are you doing?” Rusty said, just as Brock began to drift into sleep.

Oh, right. This was Rusty’s room. Brock groaned and sat up. “I was... just leaving. Sorry.”

“Idiot,” Rusty weakly extended his arms, “That’s not what I meant. Stay, but don’t pull that ‘I sleep with a two-foot gap between the other person’ bullshit with me. Come here, you oaf.” 

Brock wasn’t big on cuddling. He wasn’t big on spooning, or the honeymoon hug, or the sweetheart cradle. PDA after sex wasn’t his thing. But... he was tired. And refusing anything for Doc was a difficult task when he wasn’t sleep deprived.

So he gave in.

He hastily found his boxers in a far corner of the room, put them on, then climbed beside still-naked Rusty. The first thing he noticed about sleeping with Rusty is that he’s got no hair to get in his face like most girls do. So... that’s nice.

The second thing he noticed about sleeping with Rusty is that it feels like home.

 

***

 

Brock woke the following morning and Rusty was gone. He was alarmed by this for a moment, but when he saw that it was nearly two in the afternoon, he understood why: Rusty’s probably been at work for hours now.

Still groggy from the night before, Brock managed to put on his discarded T-shirt. He glanced at himself in Rusty’s mirror, and for someone who had the crazy night he’d had, he was looking pretty good. No hickies, no sex hair, none of that. He was in the clear. 

He met up with the boys in the kitchen, waving haphazardly while he turned on the coffee machine. Hank and Dean were across from each other at the table, both occupied by their cell phones.

“Hey Brock,” Hank said without looking up, “Are you our new dad?”

Brock nearly spit out his coffee.

“Yeah, because Pop said—“ Dean began, but Brock cut him off right away.

“Ah, ah, ah! I don’t wanna know what your dad told you,” Brock pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. He finished his coffee and headed for Rusty’s lab.

He was so going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented something on the first chapter about Brock fucking Rusty’s twink ass, and I just... couldn’t get that out of my head. So I wrote this, and now it’s on the internet. I really, really like writing these two dummies, it’s suuuper enjoyable! I hope you all enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing ot.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... yeah. So. That was a thing I wrote. I actually got the title from my dad, who, completely unprovoked, told me that he likes the way Doc calls Brock “his man” in certain contexts, (“Take it up with my man Brock”). And I thought that sounded pretty gay. So, I just kinda... ran with that. I know the characters were probably suuuuper OOC but hey I tried. Some notes;
> 
> 1\. Please don’t eat apples that’ve touched the floor of a subway train. Gross.
> 
> 2\. It’s so fucking fun writing things in Brock’s voice. Can Patrick Warburton narrate everything in my life???


End file.
